Where There's Smoke
by chrissie0707
Summary: Missing Scene 1X08 "Desperate Souls." Emma was used to irritating people, but the concern was new. She wasn't sure what to do with it, hesitating for a moment before falling back on old habits that were proving difficult to shake.


_Author Note: I feel like the first thing I need to say is,_ **this is not a SPN fic!** _There's sure to be some confusion here, because I haven't posted anything that wasn't SPN in going on ten years, and because I have that WIP multi-chap in the works. So here's what happened. My friend, partner in crime, and perpetual muse's muse got me hooked on this show under the guise of some character research. I watched a couple of episodes in seasons 2, 3 and 4, and was immediately like, well, dammit. Now I'm going to have watch the whole dang thing. Then she sent me some fic prompts. And so here are some words, because who am I to say no to that face? :P_

 _So thank you, Nova42, and if you like this short fic, you should thank her, too. I'm sure this won't be the last one. (And don't worry, SPN fans, I'm still working on "Be All Our Sins Remember'd.")_

* * *

 **Where There's Smoke**

She was accosted as soon as she opened the door.

"Where have you been?" Mary Margaret looked up from the kitchen island, where she was aggressively wiping a plate with a dishcloth. She narrowed her eyes, leveled a glare that was equal parts concerned and annoyed.

Emma was used to irritating people, but the concern was new. She wasn't entirely sure what to do with it, hesitating for a moment before falling back on old habits that were proving difficult to shake. "Had to make a stop," she answered defensively, as she stiffly and tiredly shrugged out of her jacket. "You really didn't need to wait up."

"I know." Mary Margaret set the somewhat abused towel and plate aside on the countertop before rounding the kitchen isle, pausing at the edge. "But you took off from city hall without saying anything, and when you weren't home…I was just…worried about you."

Emma turned, actively avoiding eye contact as she rubbed at a sooty spot on her forehead. "That's sweet of you, but I'm – " The _okay_ she intended caught in her aching throat, erupted in a sudden coughing fit that sent her staggering back a step.

"You certainly are not…whatever you were going to say." Mary Margaret gripped her by the elbow and steered her toward the couch. "Sit," she ordered.

Shoved to the cushions, Emma sat with a huff, rolling her eyes. "Mary Margaret, really, I'm – " Another dry, jagged cough interrupted her. _Dammit_. "It's just from the smoke," she relented, working to clear her throat. She leaned back against the cushions and rubbed at her forehead. "Or from whatever toxic fumes I inhaled being in the same room as our madam mayor."

"Well, you sound awful."

"Nah." Emma closed her eyes and laid her head against the couch, sinking further into the cushions. "Just need some sleep." She listened as Mary Margaret puttered around the apartment, and started to drift off despite the ache in her throat and the pounding in her head.

"Here."

Emma pried her eyes open, blinked at the blurry, steaming mug held at the end of her nose. "What's this?"

"It's tea," Mary Margaret said, sternly, like Emma had done something wrong. "But not too hot, and with lots of honey. For your throat."

"Thanks." Emma drew out the word and eyed her carefully, always on alert for ulterior motives, but took the offered mug. Mary Margaret stared expectantly, so she also took a sip. The warm, silky tea _did_ soothe her abused throat, so she took another, longer drink before setting the cup aside.

As soon as she did, a soft throw blanket was laid across her lap, and Mary Margaret perched close to Emma, tucking it around her.

All of her instincts screaming _personal space,_ Emma leaned back, eyebrows raised. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know." The other woman drew away, a mix of confusion and self-consciousness crossing her features. "I'm acting really strangely, aren't I?"

"No," Emma rushed to reply, shaking her head. Then she paused, considering. "Well…"

"I am. I'm being overbearing." Mary Margaret rose quickly, stepping back from the couch. "I guess it comes from being around the kids all day. I mean, I'm your roommate, not your mother," she said lightly, with a small laugh.

"Depends on who you ask," Emma mumbled under her breath.

"What?" Mary Margret looked at her curiously.

Emma shook her head. She definitely didn't have the energy for _that_ particular conversation. "Nothing." She was softening more and more to the woman, yet here she was, literally pushing away the first friend she'd had in…well, years. Surely, she could rustle up the energy to remedy that. "Not roommate," she corrected, with a weary but real smile. "Friend." She settled back against the couch, patted the seat next to her.

Mary Margaret grinned as she sank onto the cushion, then wrinkled her nose and cautiously reached out to lift a lock of Emma's limp, smoky hair. "You should take a shower." She dropped the hair as Emma's head whipped over, plastered on an innocent expression. "Just saying as a friend."

Emma sniffed, made a face. "Yeah. No, I really should."


End file.
